


Photographs

by viictoriasong



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-24
Updated: 2014-08-24
Packaged: 2018-02-14 12:08:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2191278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viictoriasong/pseuds/viictoriasong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Molly moved in with Sherlock, she demanded he let her keep the flat clear of clutter and dust. To her surprise, cleaning 221B leads to discovering some personal items of Sherlock...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Photographs

**Author's Note:**

> Previously posted on my tumblr. I am new to writing, so please look forward to artistic and creative growth on my part. My thanks goes out to Adi_mou for beta-ing and giving support ;)

When Sherlock asked Molly to move in with him, she said ‘yes’ with a happy heart. The prospect of living with him as his actual girlfriend made her heart flutter. On top of that she had always loved his Baker Street flat, as she found it had a very romantic charm to it. Molly adored 221B and felt right at home.

She had, however, made on solid demand: that he allowed her to clean on a regular basis.

221B was usually a messy place: books, magazines, used teacups, clothes – pretty much anything was scattered around, ready to be picked up when Sherlock had use for any of the items. It wasn’t this clutter that bothered Molly, for her own flat had not been very different. Her job at St. Bart’s took up a lot of time and energy and by the end of a long week, Molly had enough chores to get through. Every two weeks however, she would spend an entire Saturday afternoon airing, dusting, vacuum cleaning and washing to make sure her home looked decent again. This, however, was the part that Sherlock neglected terribly: he could not be bothered by these sorts of activities in the least. Mrs. Hudson would sneak in some dusting here and there, but Sherlock would send her out as soon as she wanted to do something more drastic.

It would not do for Molly. She wanted her home to be a clean and healthy environment, so when they discussed what it would mean for her to live at Baker Street, she had told him this. After some protest Sherlock eventually agreed, _if_ she promised not to move his things around too much. With a tight hug and a kiss their agreement was formalized and Molly Hooper moved in with Sherlock Holmes.

* * *

It turned out different from what Molly had anticipated.

Fairly soon cleaning their home went from being a necessary activity to nothing short of a treasure hunt. She’d find an unused pair of socks in a kitchen cupboard, an interesting magazine under a stack of books, unopened ‘thank you’ gifts from clients in a shoebox under the sofa. Molly started looking forward to what she’d come about next.

On a morning during one of Molly’s few weeks off from work, she was busy cleaning their bedroom. She was lying beside the bed, hose of the vacuum cleaner in hand and moving it around underneath.She stopped when she spotted a package, and when she pulled the object out from under it turned out to be a rather large parcel. It was wrapped neatly in a brightly coloured paper. Molly was curious. She stood up and walked back to the living room, where Sherlock was seated on the sofa with a computer in his lap.

“Sherlock?” He looked up. “Yes?” “What’s this?” Molly held up the package. Sherlock let out a sigh and looked back to his laptop. “I see you found  _that_  thing. It’s an old birthday gift from my mother.” Molly moved to sit beside him. ”Let me guess. You deduced what it was and concluded it didn’t need to be opened?” The package was in her lap and her eyes were set on it. Her hands held it securely. “Can I open it?” “Go ahead. I don’t care about it in the least. Not one bit.”

Molly carefully removed the gift wrapping and was left with a large, leather bound book. “Sherlock… Is this-” She couldn’t keep down excitement as it became clear to her what she was holding. She opened the book and carefully removed the tin paper protecting the first page. On it a photo of a man and a woman smiling brightly and protectively holding a baby was placed.  Below it, in a slick handwriting, Sherlock’s name and date of birth were written. Molly sank back into the sofa while letting out a sigh of endearment. “My goodness, Sherlock!”

He snorted loudly beside her, and Molly returned this with a firm poke of her elbow to his ribs. “Must you be so violent?!” “And must  _you_  always be so cynical? I think childhood photographs are very important to have. They’re memories, history, they reflect a part of who you once were.” She gave him a reassuring smile to make sure he knew she wasn’t ridiculing him. He turned his gaze back to the screen of his laptop. “You sound exactly like my mother. I  _would_  suggest you go through the photobook with her, but having one person drool over my younger self is unbearable enough.”

Molly focused on the book again, intently scanning the photo. “How long has this been under your bed?” “My mother sent it to me on my first birthday here – it’s been there ever since.” “What a wonderful gift. Really Sherlock, this should be stored in a proper place.” “Under the bed was a perfect spot if you ask me.” Molly protectively held her hands over the photobook. “It’s definitely not going back there, I’m telling you.” Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Oh well, whatever suits you.”

On the following pages of the photobook, more pictures of new born baby Sherlock were placed. His mother hadn’t spared effort, as every single one had written commentary. One read ‘ _William – 2 weeks_ ’, while another had ‘ _William – 5 weeks – sweater knit by grandmother Holmes’_  beside it. One photograph was of baby Sherlock, held up by an older boy. Molly smiled upon discovering it was no other than Mycroft – a teeny, tiny Mycroft. She had never given much thought to what the two men might have looked like as children, but seeing them like that made her feel giddy. There was something incredibly heart-warming about it.

Molly and Sherlock sat next to each other without speaking for a good while. He typed away on his computer, sneaking glances at her whenever she let out an excited squeal. She made her way through the book; every photo making her heart beat faster in excitement. From pictures of a baby, she’d come to those of a toddler, and so on. Sherlock aged 6 or 7 was accompanied by a big dog in most of those photos.  Molly knew he’d had a dog as a child, but it was wonderful to see what it had looked like.

What struck Molly most about all of these photos was how  _happy_  Sherlock looked in them. In all the years that she had known him, she had come to believe that in his life, Sherlock had become disappointed in and frustrated with the world and had come to shut most of it out. The boy in these pictures predated that mindset: this was an uncorrupted Sherlock, a young boy curious about the world and constantly seeking out adventure. The thought saddened her.

“You look so… young in these photos.” He let out a chuckle. “Well, they  _are_ over thirty years old.” “I don’t mean it like that. In all the years that I’ve known you…you always seemed rather unsatisfied with life – and sad and quite lonely. I look at these photographs and there’s just so much  _life_  to you. You’re glowing with it.” As Molly was speaking these words, Sherlock had put his laptop away. He was staring blankly at the object in her lap. “And it upsets me to know that, somewhere along the way, you lost that feeling.” She took his hands in hers, rubbing them reassuringly.

Sherlock finally looked up to meet her gaze. “I think I’m going to kiss you now.” She nodded and he pressed his lips to hers. It was a tender, affectionate kiss. She knew it was meant as an acceptance of her words and sentiment and she was glad for it. Molly knew Sherlock would never be very romantic or emotional with her, that he’d always be a bit uncomfortable and clueless with displays of affection – but he had accepted was she had given him moments before, knew she didn’t think him pathetic and that was most important. He broke away and pointed at one of the photos: “That one should be much more recognizable to you I think.” Said photo had Sherlock posing behind a number of white and pink flowers, his right hand in his side while the other supported his chin. Judging from the expression on his face, he was not comfortable at all. “That was the exact moment I started hating posing for photographs.”

Molly laughed at this; he smiled too. She gave one of his hands a squeeze. “I’m always happy to see you like this, with a grin and a twinkle in your eye.” “Of course I still smile. These days, I just reserve it for the occasions and people that are worth it – like you.” He stood up from the sofa and placed a kiss on her brown hair. “You must excuse me now; I have some work to do in the kitchen.” He quickly made his exit and spent the next few minutes rummaging around in the kitchen cupboards. A sudden, loud burst of laughter made him step back into the living room. He found Molly still on the sofa with the photobook, a hand over her mouth as to stop laughter from escaping. Her eyes, however, betrayed that something was incredibly amusing to her.

“I was just – I wasn’t expecting – and you just look -” Another burst of laughter took hold of her. Sherlock made his way over to see what had her in such a good mood. “Well? I don’t see what’s so funny about any of these photographs.” “It’s this one.” In the particular picture, Sherlock sat on a shabby looking couch, his face turned to the camera with a smirk. His signature curly hair was almost completely cut off. “Your hair is nearly gone and it looks bizarre! I don’t think my parents would have let me get such a drastic haircut when I was twelve.” “ _Twelve?!_ ” Sherlock’s jaw had dropped and his brown was furrowed; his expression made it clear to Molly that he was rather offended at her words. “That photograph was made when I was at University. I was nearly 21 years old there!” “Forgive me. Honestly though -” She examined the photo again. “- you have to admit you look incredibly baby faced here? Oh you look so cute and -”

Sherlock snatched the photobook from Molly’s hands, opened the door to their flat and made his way down the stairs. “I am reclaiming this book and I swear you are _never_  going near it again. Do you hear me?!” he shouted in a dramatic manner. Molly quickly went after him. “Oh Sherlock, come back here!”

Molly caught up in time to save the photobook from destruction – but not from another period of gathering dust. Instead of under the bed, this time it was to be in a box, stored in the attic of 221 Baker Street.


End file.
